"How did you hear about this position?" Mr. Smith asks me from across his large desk.
"My friend knew your wife, may she rest in peace, and thought I could be good for you," I answer honestly. "My parents really want me to get a job now that I'm done with homeschooling, but I really don't want some normal boring job just yet. I can help you around the house, with office work and stuff like that while I figure it out what I really want to do for work. If that's what you're looking for."
He hands me an opened envelope, unaddressed, with a single piece of paper folded in thirds written in long, loopy cursive. "This is from my wife. She wants anyone who is going to be a companion of my to read it before they begin."
My eyebrows furrow at the word "companion" as I open the letter.
Dear Potential,
If you are reading this, it is because I have passed on and my husband is attempting to fulfill my dying wish to continue experiencing pleasure until we meet again in the next life. We experienced so much together I couldn't leave him knowing his enjoyment would cease when my life did.
My husband has particular needs that I have happily fulfilled for the last 50 years. He is the sweetest man you'll ever meet and cares a great deal for people who care for him.
If you are a compassionate, kind, and open-minded individual then you might be a good fit for him. Some tips I can offer should you choose this path:
1. Only consent to what you want to do.
2. Know your boundaries and express them clearly.
3. You're allowed to change your mind.
4. Follow his lead and you will be rewarded greatly.
I hope you can find it in your heart to bring him some peace and pleasure during his retirement years.
Enjoy Yourself,
Mrs. Andrew Smith
I touch my heart with my hand and jut out my bottom lip. What a sweet old lady! She must have written this when she was on her death bed so nobody would feel guilty about showing him affection or whatever. With Mrs. Smith behind me, I feel confident that I can fulfill Mr. Smith's needs.
"Oh, I'm sure I can take care of you, Mr. Smith," I assure, handing back the piece of paper. I was sure he needed lots of hugs and back rubs living alone and working from his home office all the time. "Are you willing to give me a chance even though I have no experience? You know, with jobs."
He smiles and tosses my pitiful resume of volunteer work between us on the desk. "Not to worry. You will be trained to meet my every need." His teeth gleam in the dim office light and something about the look in his eyes gives me chills.
Odd choice of words but his smile is sweetly innocent, and I'm instantly smitten.
"Wait. Does that mean I got the job?" Before he can answer, I stand and squeal excitedly, my shoes dancing in delight on the cushy carpet.
He stands slowly and comes around the desk with his arms open wide. Without thinking I throw my body at his and he embraces me in a congratulatory hug. I release my hold on him long before he frees me but not before his hand migrates to my waist and gingerly grip at my frame.
I remembered watching a show on TV where the secretaries always got groped by their bosses. I supposed I could be okay with this old man getting handsy now and then. Product of his time or whatever.
"You start tomorrow! Wear your favorite outfit, whatever you're comfortable in. Bright and early at 6am. We'll go over the details and rules during breakfast, and we'll get to know each other a little better."
I thank him profusely on my way out and I swear I feel him pat my ass just before the front door closes behind me. Maybe I just imagined it....
No one had ever touched my butt before. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs like when I see people kiss in movies.
I feel sort of confused because he's, like, as old as my grandpa! I am so terrible at estimating age. He seemed in good health though, despite the slow steps. But his velvety deep voice had a slight hoarseness that evidenced his seniority. He had dressed in business casual with button-down printed top and slacks. His grey hair was short and loosely styled and his blue eyes pierced me deeply from behind his glasses.
I didn't realize I was home already until my twin sister pounds on my window making me jump and hit the horn.
"You fucking brat!" She laughs and runs back into the house as I trail behind her.
At dinner, Mom and Dad ask enthusiastically about the job. I oblige with how lonely Mr. Smith must be and what a great fit this was for me while I figure out what I want to do with my life.
"Then I'm happy for you! Cheers!" Dad raises his glass of soda and changes the subject while my mind wonders back to Mrs. Smith's letter and her weird tips about taking care of her widowed husband.
------
I fidget with the buttons near the hem of my knee-length dress as I sit in my car working up the courage to go up to the front door and start my first day. My stomach is full of butterflies.
It's still dark outside and dewy. The street lamps are on and only a few cars have left the safety of their garages since I parked outside his house a little early. When the clock strikes 5:58am I leave the car, unable to muster any more patience.
The front door opens before I can finish knocking shave-and-a-haircut. My mouth drops when I see him standing in the doorway wearing nothing but boxer shorts. His belly hangs over the waistband and his bare chest is covered in curly white hairs. His legs look sturdy, carrying his large frame.
He smiles and laughs. "Finally, I wondered when you were going to get out of your car."
Embarrassed and feeling heat growing up my neck I giggle and apologize for being nervous.
His arm is warm around my shoulders as he guides me into the house toward the kitchen. "It's okay. It will take you time to get used to me. As you can see, I'm immediately comfortable with you! Since I work from home, I don't have to be dressed any sort of way. That's why I offered you the same privilege. Wear whatever you like. I do!"
"Um, okay, thank you. That makes sense, I guess. I hope this is okay." I look down and pull at the hem of my dress and wait for his approval.
His hand leaves my shoulder and meanders down my back, over my butt briefly and grips at the back hem to feel the material.
"It's beautiful," he says lifting the fabric, his fingers lightly grazing my bare thigh. I catch my breath and find myself waiting for the next inappropriate touch--almost looking forward to it.
We enter the kitchen, and he says, "Make us some coffee and we can head into my office for the reading of the rules."
Oh good! Something I know how to do! He sits on a bar stool and watches my every move in silence. I feel awkward and delighted at the attention. I pile the coffee grounds into the basket.
